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And Now, A Word From…

I must admit, I wish my writing were better. I wish I could manage to be eloquent, snarky, informative, brilliant, and slightly sarcastic all at the same time.

But, I can’t. At least I can’t usually manage to pull this off.

Allow me to introduce you to my friend Mike. He speaks for me. He likely speaks for millions of us, and since I can’t possibly outdo him when it comes to writing, I have asked to feature some of his work on my blog.

So, here you go. Here is just a sample of some of his brilliantly insightful on-point writing. Don’t worry. There will be more.

Enjoy.

In the wake of Anthony Scaramucci’s ten days as the modern day, Italian version of Icarus, I was reminded of something my father told me years ago: never trust a man who adorns himself with flashy jewelry.

Scaramucci wore two pinkie rings at the first (and only) White House Press briefing he ever “performed,” which he ended by blowing kisses to the White House Press Corps, the least loved and least respected members of the press, other than Diane Sawyer. It was quite a performance, and one that you’d imagine John Gotti would’ve given, had he not fallen in with “a bad crowd” (Cosa Nostra) and instead held out for a much worse crowd (Trump, Sheriff Joe, and that f*cking dingbat Amway heiress.)

I thought Scaramucci deserved a Tony Award, or at the very least a People’s Choice Award, the one voted on by “the fans,” those f*cking dullards that foul up our national elections too. It’s Not even worth renting a tuxedo to go to the People’s Choice ceremony, with its no-host bar and no interesting celebrities to do drugs with.

By contrast, Sarah Huckabee Sanders ended her last press briefing (the first on-camera one she’s held in three weeks, by belching into the microphone and saying “ugh. Sloppy Joe’s for lunch.” Then she disappeared through a trap door in the floor that Spicer installed for quick getaways.

So much of what we see every day in this administration is unprecedented, and outside the norms of official Washington, Sarah Huckabee Sanders included. Like many of my fellow coastal elites, my exposure to small town, red state America comes from watching a few episodes of “Picket Fences,” with its delightful collection of oddballs and eccentrics. They were simple folk, decent, but not all that interesting, bc CBS wouldn’t allow it.

Sanders has used her family name to open doors for her that her personality and accomplishments never could. The youngest of the five Huckabee children Mike had with that houseplant he married right after college, Sarah is almost ten years younger than her next youngest sibling. She is their “miracle baby,” according to Mom and Dad, since both thought Mrs. Huckabee was past the age when mediocrity emerged routinely from her vagina, every few years, like clockwork, in vaguely human form, until the Huckabees got the letter from the government, begging them to stop. It is not unfairly critical of Sarah Huckabee Sanders to say that she was not an attractive baby ….unless you find Gilbert Gottfried as a newborn female attractive.

Arkansas has an uneasy relationship with the Huckabees as First Family, especially following in the footsteps of the Clintons, with all of their accomplishments. (In the Arkansas State Rotunda, where portraits of the state’s first families hang, the Legislature voted that in lieu of a portrait of the Huckabees, they would instead hang the portrait of the unknown family that came with the frame.

Because Sarah arrived when she did, so late in the game, and when the nation was distracted (sluggish economy, sluggish comedies like “Suddenly Susan” in the Top 10), there was nothing left for her in the “favorable Huckabee gene buffet” not already claimed by her older brothers and half-sister, who are no f*cking prize, I assure you.

But Sarah, God Bless her, has done the best she could with the hand she was dealt, and she deserves some praise, not a lot, but some. (When Karen Pence said that she sees some of herself in Sarah Huckabee Sanders, it was meant as a compliment, one boring cipher to another, but still, you couldn’t help but think that Karen Pence was being disingenuous, which she is, at all times, when awake.

Ms. Sanders, to her credit, is tough and resilient. Friends say she can really take a punch, and isn’t afraid to throw one either, which makes her the obvious choice to watch your back in a bar fight.

Also, Ms Sanders is the only person I know who looks pretty good buying off-the-rack at JC Penney. The clothes are shapeless. She is shapeless. And so are her politics, her intellect, and crappy ideas. Somehow it all works.

In closing, let me add that when Scaramucci flashed those two pinkie rings to such stunning effect, I was triggered by an event from my childhood, seeing David Copperfield in Vegas with tickets we wildly overpaid for, like everyone does. Copperfield also wore two pinkie rings, without the Scarmucci charm to pull it off. And because I was exactly the same at 13 as I am at 48, this was my interaction with Copperfield, whose sorcery repels young Jewish men like myself:

COPPERFIELD: “Michael, tell me what card I’m thinking of.”

ME: “I have a better idea, David. Why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking instead. Here’s a hint: Your wife is a Shicksa goddess. And I’d like to split your skull with a pick axe.”

(Icarus, if you remember your Greek mythology, flew too close to the sun, but what really did Icarus in was his drunken conversation with Ryan Lizza of the New Yorker that lasted for 45 minutes, 5 minutes if you cut out all the swearing.)